


Hold The Line

by LipstickAndWhiskey (CopperMarigolds)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Worship, Dean Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, Language, NSFW Smut, Protective Dean Winchester, Season 8 Dean angst, Smut, Sub!Dean, chest worship, definite rugburn, fluffy sex, just a hint really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9654956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperMarigolds/pseuds/LipstickAndWhiskey
Summary: Dean comes back from Purgatory a changed man, and things between he and the reader shift from friends to something more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in season 8, mostly at Rufus’ old cabin. I know the cabin doesn’t have a fireplace, but we’ll pretend it’s right next to the tv. Cool? Cool. Title is taken from the Toto song of the same name. Again, thanks to everyone for being patient with me while I wrote this one. Super special thanks to @jpadjackles for helping with my plot bunnies, and @winchestersinthedrift for the lovely smut writing advice that I hope I did some justice with. Part of @curliesallovertheplace’s Celebration Challenge and @sis-tafics and @eyes-of-a-disney-princess’ Have a Hubba Bubba Birthday Writing Challenge. The prompts were “What if Dean is a cuddler?” and “The One With All The Kissing”.
> 
> (Blockquoted sections are flashbacks)

([x](http://canonspngifs.tumblr.com/post/155700190019),[x](http://canonspngifs.tumblr.com/post/150693657999/livingthegifs-just-how-i-imagined-by))

Each bump in the road has you shifting in your seat, the old chevy truck’s shit suspension making your butt numb with vibrations. You check your watch and, yep. You’re making really good time. You should be with the way you’re speeding on the blacktop, mile markers flying past.

Your phone lights up, the man consuming your idle thoughts’ face smiling up at you from the screen. Him and his stupid pretty face. It’s funny the way you could just as easily kiss said stupid face as you could punch it. And you wanted to kiss it. _A lot._

You flip open your phone, “Dean?”

“Hey, you almost here?”

You fight to stifle a laugh. “Impatient much, Winchester?”

“Maybe a little.” There’s a smile in his voice that you can imagine all too well. “Tell you the truth- it’ll be nice seeing a friendly face.”

Your heart warms, the honest lilt of his confession sending heat to your cheeks. “Well, I’m almost there. Sam giving you grief like usual?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Nah, he’s off on another lead. Figured he was leaving me in good hands.”

You have to fight hard against your brain to keep it from going down a particular road that could only lead to trouble. He was your _friend_. Your very attractive friend. That you wanted to kiss.

Ugh, _there you go again._

You’d gone quiet long enough for him to worry, his voice holding a slight edge now. “Still there?”

“Yep,” you rasp out. “Yeah, just- pulling in now.”

You pull into the old parking lot, the sexy black of the impala stark contrast to your red rustbucket. Sitting on the hood is Dean, light green shirt hanging open over a brown tee, all warm and cozy under an army green jacket. He’s caught sight of you, smiling wide as his eyes sparkle, taking in every bit of you he can. He flips his phone closed, tucking it into his jeans as you shut off the truck.

You’re barely out of the cab before he’s rushing you, pulling you into him and underneath his layers. Your face is pressed to his tee and hands pressed flat to his back. His solid arms engulf you, pressing you into the heated bulk of him as you try to control your breathing as he’s surely squeezing the breath right out of you. He smells like you remember- a dash of leather cleaner, smoke, cinnamon, and a musk that was so unique to him. He smelled like home.

He pulls away, slow as his hands drift over your back to rest at your elbows, catching them as he hinges away to look at you. He’s still beaming, eyes drifting over your features as he looks almost hesitant to let you go.

“‘S good to see you, kiddo,” he drawls, sending your heart thundering in your chest. You smile as though you aren’t afraid you’re having a coronary, the effect always the same when Dean talks to you so fondly. You’re aware you’re smiling is akin to the Joker, wide and likely ludicrous- but you don’t care.

“Hey Dean,” you manage to spit out, remembering to talk. “Good to see ya too. Wish it could be under slightly better circumstances, but… Well, when do hunters ever really meet under less than ideal circumstances?”

He looks at you, long enough that you think maybe he’s thinking of a certain circumstance only a month ago. He just quirks his mouth into a rueful smile, though. “Yeah, I know what you mean. You need help with your bags?” he asks, peering into your still open door.

“Nah, just the one duffle.” You pull away, albeit reluctantly, reaching for the bag. Dean though, he won’t leave it be and crushes in behind you to snatch it up, a stupid happy smile on his face. “Dean,” you scold, “I can carry my own bag!”

He shrugs, smirking as he trails over to the impala, popping the trunk and sliding your bag in next to his.

You feel his eyes on you as you climb into the impala, careful not to slam the door. You’d gotten an earful one day about that, so it was habit now. Dean slides in next to you, the ease and familiarity in which he does so comforting. He cranks up the engine and slides his hands over the wheel reverently before looking up.

He’s got a death grip on the steering wheel though, body rigid as he stares off out of the windshield. You slowly slide a hand over his forearm, squeezing gently. He turns, eyes a little wild and lost as he takes you in, worried gaze sobering him. His shoulders fall a few degrees and he sighs, long and world-weary.

“Thanks”

You nod. “Anytime.” You wonder just how deep the claws of purgatory have sunk into him. Deeper than you thought, surely. As you drive off, the soft sound of rock playing from the speakers, your mind wanders to the last time you’d seen him.

* * *

> _Dean is gone. Dean is gone, and you’re sure he isn’t dead. Winchesters don’t just die. They never do. That’s why you’re in South Dakota. You have a possible lead on where he could be. It’s flimsy, you know that- a professor who could either be off the deep end or onto the truth. You’re relentless in your search for him though, so you can’t pass up the opportunity._
> 
> _You’re almost to the campus where he teaches, meeting set up under an FBI alias. Your phone rings some chirpy tone, and you flip your phone open. “Agent Willis”_
> 
> _There’s a deep breath on the line. You hope it isn’t some perv prank calling._
> 
> _“Kid?”_
> 
> _You all but stop breathing. There’s only one person who calls you that and-_
> 
> _“You there?”_
> 
> _“Dean?” You’re shaking, hoping to hell that this is Dean. Your Dean._
> 
> _“Oh thank fuck,” he says, and you can can practically see his head angled back in relief. “Sweetheart, it’s me.”_
> 
> _You don’t dare cry. You would rather get punched in the boob than cry, but his voice over the line is nearly enough to make you weep. So you go for anger, the best cover you can muster._
> 
> _“Where the hell have you been, Winchester? I have been looking under every goddamn rock just to find your sorry ass.” Your voice comes out strangled, less angry and more desperate than you wanted. He sighs, long and shaky._
> 
> _“You don’t know how good it is to hear your voice.” He sounds relieved, voice gruff and tired. “Sam hasn’t been picking up the damn phone, and- I’m just so damn happy you picked up.”_
> 
> _You’ve pulled over to the side of the road, eyes closed as you sit listening to his voice. “Where have you been, Dean?” you ask, soft and almost afraid of the answer._
> 
> _“Meet me at Rufus’ old cabin in Montana.” he says, voice rough and throat tight. “I’m a day or two out. Just meet me and I’ll tell you everything. Just, come. Please.”_
> 
> _With Dean pleading with you, you can’t help but give in. Of course you never could do anything but give in when it came to him. So you drive to Montana._
> 
> _The drive is pleasant enough, albeit nerve wracking. You can’t help but stew in your questions, thoughts about Dean’s sudden reappearance after a year of just being **gone** running wild._
> 
> _You finally pull up to the old cabin, the impala outside and- **wait**. The impala. You rush up to the door, bursting into the room and sure enough there he is. Sam’s got his arms wrapped around Dean, face beaming yet cautious as he hugs him. And there’s no question in your mind that those broad shoulders and cropped haircut is Dean. All the same, when they pull apart and he turns- all the breath whooshes out of your lungs. It punches out of you hard as his eyes land on you, gaze softening before holding out a knife to you._
> 
> _Ah yes, **the tests**._
> 
> _You barely keep it together through the tests, the brothers doing their own again to make sure you all are on the same page. The moment they’re done though, you crash into Dean. Your arms go up high around his neck, feet on tiptoe as you crush him to you. He reels back with the weight of you, hesitantly wrapping solid arms around you until he sighs hard, burying his face into your neck and pulling you in tight. You feel him take a deep breath against your chest, fingers digging deep into your sides, nose pressed up against your jawline. You know you’re shaking like a leaf, holding onto him for dear life as you glance up to Sam._
> 
> _He’s smiling softly, watching you two, and you give him a watery smile back. He nods a hello, and you close your eyes against the rising waterworks- still refusing to cry._
> 
> _You swallow against the lump in your throat, hands sliding to his shoulders to pull away to get a better look at him. He looks older, in the world-weary way; not that any hunter didn’t have that look mind you. Maybe all except Garth, on his rare off-day. As you look into his eyes though, you still see that small sparkle that tells you yes, this is Dean. He’s been through literal hell, but nobody ever seems to be able to take that spark from him. It’s that small sign that has you cupping the side of his face, lips pressing soft but sure to the other cheek._
> 
> _He’s back, and you’re not letting go._

* * *

Dean pokes you in the leg, pointing out of the windshield. There it is, the old cabin that you remember so well. It was the closest thing to a home that you had, periodical visits outnumbering any other place you’d visited. It has been the Winchesters’ homebase for awhile now, and the most constant in your life except for the boys.

Dean pulls into the yard, shutting off the car and sliding his keys into his pocket. “Ready to find a lost prophet of the lord?” he asks, brows tilted playfully.

You chuckle, “always,” before sliding out of the car.

The cabin was the same as always, dust settled in every nook and cranny, plaid shirts hung on every hook, messy and cluttered with books and disposable cups, and wall of crazy still intact. Pictures of Dick’s face plastered the wall, red string darting across pictures and articles. The boys clearly didn’t bother cleaning up much at all, which is pretty typical. Murder-y, nearly unkillable monsters were running amok.

You flip the lightswitch several times before Dean appeared behind you, a duffle in each hand. “Lights aren’t working,” you say. He hmms, flicking the switch himself as if you hadn’t done it moments before. He drops the bags onto the small round kitchen table, disappearing through the back door with a ‘hold on’. Your fidgety hands can’t handle it, so you begin clearing away the trash, piling it all up until Dean comes shuffling back in.

He has his hand on his neck, rubbing nervously. “So uh, the power’s out and the generator doesn’t have any gas.”

Great. Just great. You eye the fireplace next to the tv, eyes flicking back to Dean. He shrugs. “That’ll work. Won’t be much warmer in the farther parts of the cabin, though.”

At this point, you don’t care. You’re tired and hungry, grumbling a little in acknowledgement at Dean’s promises of getting gas in the morning. So time flies as Dean builds a fire in the fireplace, and you sift through the cupboards past all the microwaveables, only finding a can of beanie weenies. You hold up the can as Dean’s lighting the kindling, and he grins wide, hand out and fingers wiggling for you to hand it to him. You rifle through drawers, snagging a beat-up can opener, handing both to him. The fire’s burning well in the fireplace, army storage box- turned makeshift coffee table- now moved, dark rug now in it’s spot. The high-backed chair next to the fireplace has a few holes, though it’s proximity to the fire makes it all the more enticing. So you plop down on the chair, watching as Dean opens the can and sets it to warm by the fire.

“We’re gonna have to wait until we have power to start searching for Kevin,” you say. “Since it’s so damn cold, why don’t we just camp out in here? You can take the couch, and I’ll take the floor.” You know he’s going to decline, being the sacrificial ass that he is, but you have to try anyways. The hollowness around his eyes demands you try.

“Nope, no way. Not gonna happen, kid. I’ll take the floor. I’ve slept on worse.”

You sigh, and there it is. “And I haven’t? C’mon MacGyver,” you say, avoiding confronting him about his sleep habits. “Take the couch, I’ll be fine.”

“Nope,” the stubborn ass says, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “Not happenin’.”

Exasperated and feeling gross in your hunting clothes, you stand to stretch, a long _uhhhh_ falling from your lips. Glancing back at Dean, his eyes are on you, unwavering as though he’d been watching you for awhile now. It startles you a little- the intensity of his stare, but you shrug it off as you snatch up your duffles and haul them over to the doorway. “We’ll see about it, Winchester,” you throw over your shoulder, “I’m gonna change in the meantime. Don’t burn the joint down while I’m gone.”

* * *

> _“Dude, you’re freakin’ alive!” Sam says, shoving hair from his face as he begins pacing the room. “I mean, what the hell happened?”  
>  “Well, I guess standing too close to exploding Dick sends your ass straight to purgatory.”_
> 
> _Purgatory? What the hell? You knew it existed but for a **human** to be there…_
> 
> _“Purgatory?” Sam asks, “For the whole year?” His face is akin to yours, you’re sure of it. Mouth open, aghast. “Yeah, time flies when you’re running for your life,” he says, and it just- It cuts you to the bone._
> 
> _Dean fills you two in, leaving more questions than answers, but damn- you’re too happy that he’s back to really care about details at the moment. He’s here and he’s real. Losing Cas though, Cas was like a brother to you and- best not to think about it. Losing people wasn’t new to you, and you knew dwelling on it was akin to letting a wound fester. Better to slap a band-aid on and move on. The hunter way._
> 
> _“Did you know that ah- halfa your numbers are out of service?” Dean asks Sam. “Felt like I was leavin’ messages in the wind.” He hands you a beer, setting another down for Sam as he sits at the dinky table. You’re not too sure you’re ready for this confrontation sober._
> 
> _Sam stays standing, and doesn’t even reach for the beer. “Yeah, I-I-I didn’t get your messages.” You twist off the top of the beer, taking a long pull. “How come?” “Probably because I ditched the phones.” Dean squints. “Because…?”_
> 
> _Sam takes a breath, “I guess, um… I guess something happened to me this year, too.” He shrugs. “I don’t hunt anymore.” He smiles tentatively, and Dean chuckles softly before growing serious again. You on the other hand… All of the unanswered messages made sense. Sam had gone completely dark on you, and at the time you figured he’d just needed space. But quitting?_
> 
> _As Sam goes on and on about being lost and alone, you can’t help but feel a little hurt. Yeah, he’d just lost Dean- but you were still there. And he left. Dean says as much, knowing you won’t dare call him out. He was hurting and you both dealt with it in different ways. But the way he asks if Sam looked for him, a hard set to his mouth and pain in his eyes- you know he’s hurting._
> 
> _Dean storms out, fists clenched and you follow, shoving your half-empty beer into his brother’s hands with a pat to the shoulder. “I’ll talk to him,” you say, giving him a soft look. “I am sorry,” he repeats, and you give him another pat before running after Dean._
> 
> _Dean’s standing under the giant tree out front, forearm braced against the trunk and forehead pressed to his arm. He’s picking at the bark, pieces flaking and crumbling as he fiddles. He tenses before he realizes it’s you, shoulders dropping and breath evening out._
> 
> _“The hell was he thinkin’,” he grinds out, “Didn’t even look for me or bother makin’ sure you were good.” He pulls away from the tree, angling himself toward you. “You’re good, right?” The earnest crinkle to his brow has you melting a little, and you come to stand next to him, back leaning up against the tree._
> 
> _“I should be asking **you** that, Dean. You’re the one who spent a year non-stop killin’ shit.” He chuckles a little, that spark lighting up again._
> 
> _“Thank you, ya know, for lookin’ for me.” The way he says it like he’s trying to say more is enough for you, and you reach for him again. Anything to be close. You pull him into another bear hug, a hand between his shoulderblades and another slightly lower, fingers spread wide. He’s warm and broad and so real, so very, very real in your arms and you thank a god you don’t believe in that he’s back. He holds you like you’re a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from rattling apart, and you’re more than willing to be that for him._
> 
> _“Always, Dean. Always.”_
> 
> _The day quickly turns to night, tension between the boys only growing. Raised voices interrupted your showertime, Kevin now the topic of debate. You scrubbed your face, trying to breathe through the thick air. Things were not good._
> 
> _When you finally emerge from the steamy heat, looking for something to munch on, you find Dean alone on the couch._
> 
> _“Hey, whatcha got there?” He hold up some saltines, the only thing you’d seen him eat all day. “You didn’t want any soup?” He shakes his head, “Hard pass.” You’re about to give him an earful about eating, but he sees the fire in your eyes, cutting you off at the pass. “We didn’t eat there. Never really got hungry. But now, food is-” he trails off, and you know. Anything more than some crackers and he’s probably be hugging the toilet bowl._
> 
> _You reach in the fridge and pull out one of your blue gatorades and hand it to him as you sit close. “Might as well stay hydrated, then.” The gratefulness that flashes in his eyes and the shy smile sends your heart aflutter, the softness of the man underneath all the gruff grumpy hunter shining through. His hot hand slips over your knee, squeezing fleetingly before just staying there. Every cell in your body hums under him, and the way he’s looking at you sends a thrill up your spine._
> 
> _You’d only caught glances of that particular look, never aimed at you, but rather girls in some cheap bar. And even those looks had nothing on the one before you. It had all the same heat and fire, but softened and almost- dare you say- awestruck. His hand still on your knee had your body on high alert, and when he spoke it felt like coming out of a trance._
> 
> _“I thought about you when I was… Everyday I thought about if you and Sam were gonna find me. I knew you wouldn’t give up and I thought that if you wouldn’t give up, how could I do any less?” Your hand covers his, a silent reassurance. “I didn’t get very far, but I knew you weren’t dead. You couldn’t be.”_
> 
> _His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, mouth parting as a tongue darts out to lick perfect lips and you’re caught. Caught in thoughts you thought you’d banished to a far-off corner of your mind, not to be dusted off ever, if you had your way. And yet here you are, transfixed as you wet your own lips subconsciously, imagining the feel of his mouth against yours and the taste of him on your tongue. Your eyes drag back to his, and you feel the air punch out of your lungs._
> 
> _You’d been certain of few things in your life. One, you knew you would die one day, leaving nothing behind except hopefully a few longer lives. Two, that koalas were fuckin’ evil sons of bitches. And three, that Dean Winchester was about to kiss you._
> 
> _Scratch that. Now you were certain of four things. The fourth being Sam and his awful timing. His footsteps drew near as he started playing a soundbyte of Kevin on his laptop, precariously balanced in one hand. You didn’t have time to mourn the loss, phone vibrating in your pocket. Slipping it out of your pocket, you recognized your friend’s name on caller ID, sending Dean a small disappointed smile. He just watched dejectedly as you left to take the call, listening as Sam played and replayed Kevin’s voice._
> 
> _Morning came far too soon, the day pulling you and the Winchesters in opposite directions. The boys were headed to Centreville, Michigan and you to Ely, Nevada. You couldn’t ignore a call for help just for a guy. You couldn’t and wouldn’t let a friend down, even if the guy in question is no doubt one of the best men you’d ever known. But such was the life of a hunter. Doing what was best instead of what you wanted._
> 
> _You packed up your ride, Dean hovering within reach at all times, his nervous energy starting to make you jumpy. “So who’s this friend, again?” He was doing the protective overbearing thing he did with Sam to you, and you were unashamed to admit you felt giddy because of it. It was his way of saying he cared, and you wouldn’t give that up for the world._
> 
> _“His name is Joe, Dean.” He scoffs. “What kind of name is Joe, anyway? Sounds fake.” You grin, “Dean, he’s a 40-something year old man. Joe’s like family.” He pouts a little, “Well, what was the case he said he needed help on? Maybe we-” “Dean.” “What?” “I’ve got this.”_
> 
> _He huffs, so you cut him a little slack. “They found a body locked in a car. No wounds, no cause of death, just $15,000 in cash stuffed into the dashboard and two blank books shoved haphazardly under the front seat. He thinks he’s got witches on his hands, so I’m helping an old friend out.” Dean’s face scrunches at the mention of witches, muttering a ‘witches, man’ under his breath. You shrug in reply, “beats hunting leviathan any day.”_
> 
> _Sam appears as you edge to the driver’s door, Dean still trailing close behind. “It was great seeing you,” Sam says, dipping low to give you a big squishy hug. You hug back, giving him an extra-tight squeeze for the road. “Great seeing you too, Sammy. Keep in touch for real this time, okay?” You turn to Dean, already reaching out to pull you into him. The way he tugs you in, arm banded around your waist and hand cupping your head throws you a little. It speaks volumes, his gesture, and it makes your heart thud in your chest. You’re tucked in under his chin, tight to his solid warm chest and there’s such an intimate feeling to his embrace. It takes a good few minutes and a deep breath, his hands reluctantly releasing you, but gliding along your sides to prolong the contact. The air between you has changed, what ifs hanging mysteriously in the space between you._
> 
> _You can’t help the impulse, leaning forward and pressing a warm lingering kiss to his cheek. You’re not sure if it’s a promise or a claim, maybe both, but you watch as his face falls slack. Lips parted and eyes sparkling, you smile at the look on his face. “What was that for?” He rasps, still touching you. You pat his chest, smiling. “For the road.”_
> 
> _Sam laughs, thoroughly enjoying the slack-jawed and dazed look on his brother’s face. “I think you broke him.”_
> 
> _You step away, a little too pleased with yourself, smiling over your shoulder as you climb in your car. They watch as you speed away, spitting gravely chunks as you peel out. The breathless smile Dean wears in the rear view mirror has you smiling all the way to your next hunt._

* * *

You rifle through your duffle, silently scolding yourself for not taking a trip to the laundromat earlier. You were far too eager to see Dean to stop for little else than food and bathroom breaks, not even contemplating the fact that you didn’t have much in the way of clean shirts. You eye Dean’s duffle, chewing on your lip as you contemplate the pros and cons of wearing one of his flannels.

Pros- you’re warm and cozy in the chilly cabin, tucked up into his large shirt, his scent surrounding you. Cons- he might think it’s weird, you stealing his shirt and it might be too much too soon.

‘ _Fuck it_ ’, you think. There’s no way you can turn down the warmth of the overlarge flannel. You pick out a red and yellow plaid number that you always thought looked great on him, taking a surreptitious sniff and smiling at the warm scent. You flick off your tank top, bra too while you’re at it, shrugging into the warm flannel. Your fingers fly over the buttons, trying to maintain as much body heat as you can in the drafty room.

Stepping back to look in the full-length mirror, your face breaks into a smile, the comical length of his shirt dwarfing you. Arms swimming in cloth, you roll them just enough to free your hands. You’re warm and cozy, flannel and fleece-lined leggings already making you feel comfortable and maybe just a little sexy. The flannel was what gave you that edge, ruffled hair making you look younger than you felt.

You waltz back into the main room, watching as Dean took a double take, brows raised as he took in the stolen shirt. “I hope you don’t mind I borrowed a shirt- Didn’t have any clean ones to speak of.” you say, watching as he stares, lips parted. Tongue dancing between straight white teeth, it flicked out, wetting lush pink lips as he flushed a little red in the flickering firelight. He clears his throat a few times, eyes flicking between the flannel and your face. “ ‘S okay. Looks better on you, anyway.” He ducks his face as soon as he says it, and you’re a little grateful because of the stupid giddy teenage girl inside of you giggling.

You slide into your chair, watching as Dean spoons dinner into bowls for each of you. As he hands you your bowl, your hands brush as you take it, his eyes meeting yours for a long moment as your heart thuds in your chest. Crinkled and dancing green eyes draw you in before he clears his throat yet again, letting go.

He seems so flustered, and you can’t help but think maybe it’s the shirt, or the fact that it’s the first time you’ve had a moment to yourselves since the almost-kiss. Either way, he shovels a spoonful of beans into his mouth as he fiddles with an emergency-red electronic as he sits on the floor.

You reach out your foot, nudging him and gesturing toward what he held in his hands. “What’s that?” He grins, almost childlike, as he holds it up for you to see.

“It’s an emergency radio. It’s got a hand crank and a flashlight on it for emergencies. Got it at some second-hand store last time we bought clothes.” He’s grinning, tinkering with a few dials happily. “Sam was givin’ me shit about it, but he can eat it. It’s comin’ in handy now, huh?”

You shake your head good-naturedly, thoroughly enchanted with this giant dork of a man. He could rip a hole through any monster one second, and be utterly sweet and adorable the next. You suppose god really broke the mould with this one.

He flicks the radio on, some soft rock ballad playing as the two of you eat in silent companionship.

Dinner was excellent, compared to some of the roadtrip meals you tended to have. You still shudder when you think of that sketchy hotdog from a Pump ‘n Go in Milwaukee. _That hot dog haunted you._

Dean surprised you with a cup of tea, found in the back of one of the cupboards. He even fixed it up like you liked before handing it to you, easy smile and sweet eyes almost too much for your heart to handle.

You sip at your tea, watching the fire as Dean clears his throat.

“Do you-” he starts, quiet almost. “Do you think that people I don’t need anymore end up dead?”

Your heart clenches painfully in your chest, and you look at him. He’s sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, one leg folded up with an arm draped across. The other is folded under, hand smoothing over the wrinkles of his denim jeans. His face is solemn, the haunted shadows you’d hoped were fading back in full force.

You sigh softly, “This is about Kevin, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods. You poke him with an outstretched foot again, giving him what you hope was your best empathetic look. “Shit happens, Dean. You can’t save everybody, try as you might.” He swallows hard, looking away as his jaw clenches. “Hey, I mean it. You and Sam aren’t the only ones to lose people. Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. Does it suck? Hell yeah. But we do what we can where we can. That’s all we can do. That’s how we _save people_ , Dean. Doing what we can.”

He’s silent for a moment, adam’s apple bobbing as he chews at the side of his mouth. “What about you?”

Huh? “What about me, Dean?” He looks at you full on, scrutiny creasing his brow. “You aren’t afraid you’ll die as soon as we- _I_ don’t need you anymore?” Emphatically you shake your head, “Never even crossed my mind. Plus you don’t really need me, do ya? You and Sam have things covered, pretty much,” you smile wryly.

He huffs a laugh, face disbelieving as he watches you. “You’re kidding, right? You think I don’t need you?” You notice he’s dropped the ‘we’. “There’s nights that I can’t go to sleep at all, and those texts we send back and forth are the only things keeping me sane.”

You reel a little at the confession. You hadn’t expected him to follow up on his promise of texting more often, but he had. Little messages throughout the day illuminated your phone, each one pulling a small smile from you. Any hour of the day was fair game, but most of the long conversations happened at night. You’d talk about anything under the sun, but never had you expected that they meant as much to him as they did to you.

“Dean-”

“I’ve always wanted you, but I need you too,” he admits, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Do you trust me?” “With my life.” “Then come here,” you say, setting your mug down and sliding to the edge of your chair. He scootches between your legs, hands rubbing nervously at his legs.

He’s so close you can see the freckles spattered across his face, glowing warm orange in the light of the fireplace. The way he’s angled makes his long eyelashes cast delicate shadows over his cheeks, adding to the deep intensity his eyes hold as he looks at you. Your hand slides up over his chest, right to the spot where his heart thuds hard in his chest. He kneels there in silence, watching breathlessly as your other hand slides up to cup his head, blunt nails raking over his scalp. He shivers a little, eyes falling closed as his lips part, tongue darting out to wet them.

You’re mesmerized by the way he presses his head into your palm, the vulnerability that he hides behind humor and all those walls bare and open to you. He’s gorgeous and soft in your hands, trusting and caring. So damn caring.

You press your lips to his cheek, his breath hitching as you let them linger, hot breath skittering over his skin. “I want you to remember: you deserve this.” His eyes flicker open a moment before closing again as your lips press to his, slow and exploring. He’s slow to respond but when he does his hands grapple at you as he rises up on his knees, pressing into you. You tilt back into the chair under him, thighs clamping around his waist to keep your balance.

One of his hands at your shoulder, the other fisting in your- _his_ shirt, his mouth moulds against yours again and again and again. He’s feeling, tasting every inch of you, languorous and just this side of desperate. You pull away for air, watching the needy slant of his brows and the way he follows your lips with eyes closed. He blinks them open as if coming out of a daze, lips still parted and ready to dive back in.

He does just that, hand coming up to cup your face, thumb resting gently against your jaw as he guides you through the paces. Your hand at his chest slides over his chest, grabbing at the material of his shirt around his shoulders, hanging on for all you’re worth as your head spins. The heady feel of his kisses threaten to overwhelm all thought, leaving only the weight of him in your arms and the taste of him on your tongue. He pulls away this time, greedy for the sight of you as his eyes flick up and down, his lips full and strawberry red. “Wanted to do that for a long time,” he says, thick. “Every time I closed my eyes in purgatory, all I could think of was if I got back, I’d- _fuck_ \- I’d do _something_. Anything you’d be willing to give me. Anything.”

You suck in a breath, the weight of his words far more than you ever could have hoped for from him. Just the thought that he wanted something with you, on your terms, was enough to overflow your heart. The bravest, most caring and handsome man you’d ever met wanted you.

He ducks a sweet kiss to your lips, “If we do this though, I won’t be able to let you go.”

You can’t imagine a better way to spend whatever life you had left. The thought of doing without him- unfathomable. “Then don’t.”

His kid-in-a-candystore smile warms you like the fireplace can’t, his eager mouth returning to yours, lips still curled at the corners. His mouth quickly slips to your neck, pecking and nipping as he goes. The areas that make you mewl, he spends a little more time on, pushing at the flannel shirt as you hang onto him. He snags a finger at the neckline, the rub of his stubble distracting you from whatever he’s saying into your neck. He pulls away, smile still there as he asks again, “Can I?” tugging at the neckline some more. You’re lost for words, the nod of your head enough for him as calloused fingers pop open a button with practiced ease. He kisses at the newly exposed skin, the hint of stubble on his chin tickle-teasing, earning whimpers as you bite at your lip. His eyes flick up to yours, the shimmering sparkle enough to have you biting harder. _Fuck_.

He continues to open your shirt in the same fashion, popping a button and pressing kisses to each new patch. When he gets to the space between your breasts, you just about swallow your tongue as he flicks out his tongue, hot and slick against your flushed skin. Your head thumps at the back of the chair, leaned back and hands scrabbling to grab hold of any part of Dean you can get to. His eyes are still shining at you, his own groans as he explores your skin turning you on all the more. He reaches the last button, dipping his tongue briefly into your belly button, before finally peeling the panels of flannel apart. He doesn’t look right away, eyes transfixed to yours before trailing down. Your nipples pebble in the cool air and under his gaze, chest heaving at how turned on you are.

“ _Uhhhfuckk_ ,” he groans long and wrecked. His hands trail up your sides, stopping to rest on your ribs right under your breasts. He mouths at the underside of one before switching to the other, letting his teeth rasp at the sensitive flesh as you wiggle. You rake shaky fingers through his hair as he presses a teasing kiss to your nipple, hot breath panting over it before sucking it into his mouth. Tongue rolling in circles, he teases it, sending shivers straight to your spine as you hold him to your chest. You’re sure he’s already wrecked you for all other men, but with the way he’s worshipping your chest with his mouth, you can’t help but want to be sure that you want to ruin him for all other women.

He squeezes and kneads a breast as his other hand snakes under your butt to grab a handful, pulling you into his growing hardness between your legs. You can’t help but keen at the friction, finally being able to relieve some of the growing tension in your aching cunt. “This is what you do to me, sweetheart. All those pretty noises you make- couldn’t’a dreamed up better than ‘em.”

You groan, sure that you may just die from his words alone. That is, until his hand slips over the front of your leggings. His giant fuckin’ hand cups you, and you’re sure you can hear a few brain cells wither and die as he moves it in a slow circle against the heat of you. “Dean-”

He hums, a smug grin glinting perfect straight teeth at you. “Don’t be a fuckin’ tease, Dean.” He chuckles at your frustration before moving his hands to your waistband, thumbs smoothing over the skin there. You fling your hands behind you, latching onto the back of the chair and lifting your hips in invitation. He doesn’t hesitate, sliding the leggings off along with your underwear, tossed aside somewhere behind him. He chokes on a moan at the sight of you, open and thoroughly disheveled in the high-backed chair. With giddy excitement, he shucks his shirts, eyes roaming your exposed skin making a circuit again and again as he looks. Eyes, mouth, chest, legs, and back up to your eyes again.

He scrambles back between your legs as you reach to push the flannel off. Large hands stop you. “Keep it on- please. You look good in it.”

You smirk. “Well, feel free to admire me then.”

The look in his eyes tell you he’s going to do just as much. Hooking a hand around your ankle, he pulls it up, pressing a kiss to it. A few inches higher and he presses another to your skin. He goes on and on like that, kissing up your legs with a soft reverent look in his eyes. He whispers intermittently, alternating between soft praise and heated comments about how good you look. He lights up every nerve until you can’t take it anymore, hauling him up to your mouth. You kiss him soundly, hands roaming over his impossibly broad shoulders, muscles underneath your hands solid and warm. He wraps you up in the circle of his arms, chest to naked chest as he drives the kisses deeper. The way he kisses slow and unhurried with an underlying simmering _want_ starts to truly unravel you, all the teasing he’s doing so completely unfair.

The two of you break off the kiss again, mouths still open and panting into each other. “God, wanna just-” You don’t wait for him to finish, just nodding as you crash into him again, pushing him backwards until he gets the hint. He does, thankfully, and eases back. He crashes to the rug hard, you plastered to his front and sending the two of you into a giggling fit.

He takes the opportunity to crinkle lovely eyes at you, flipping you underneath him as he pulls at his belt buckle. You’re still giggling into his mouth, part nerves and part delight as he’s kissing you senseless. He growls a little, pulling away before pressing another dizzying kiss to you with a ‘hold on’ before he sets to ripping at his bootlaces, jeans pooled around his ankles and stuck on his booted feet. He’s mumbling curses at his boots, haphazardly pulling the laces loose enough to free himself before he’s back on you.

You grin as he presses you into the fluffy shag below, the firelight flickering exquisite shadows over his handsome face. He rumbles a moan, eyes flicking over your body laid out beneath him. The molten look in his eyes makes you feel like the most exquisite thing ever, the way his eyes slide over you as tangible as his physical touch.

Slipping fingers over your heat he says, strangled, “Wanna feel you. Just like this.”

“God, Dean, _yes_.” You lean into his smiling mouth, and into another deep, dizzying kiss as he lays on his side next to you. You’re still sprawled out on your back as he traces the shape of you with his hands, rough fingertips pressing mindless circles into your belly and long lines across your sternum. It isn’t until his hand reaches your hip that he really presses, fingers hooking around your thigh, hiking your leg right up over his legs.

Your legs are spread wide open, hips lifting for friction until his fingers press right to the sides of you. You keen against his mouth, needy and wanton as he lets his fingers explore. He traces the shape, careful to avoid touching your clit too early, just feeling and stroking as you grasp at his arm. “Ahh-fuck Dean” you rasp into his mouth, feeling his lips curl at the corners.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, sweetheart.”

He curls a finger into you and you sigh, the emptiness that screamed at you abating as he strokes, your own fire curling low in your gut. He pushes and pulls, adding another finger as you start to rock in time with his hand. Your kiss-stifled gasps only fuel the blaze burning in his eyes as they brush over you every time you separate. You pull and tug at him as he ducks to whisper in your ear, “Wanna see you come apart on my fingers, baby. Wan’ see your pretty face as you come. Wan’ see it all.”

Dirty words in your ear send you spiraling higher, trembling under the weight of it until he looks at you. You watch the flick of his eyelashes and slant of his brow as he works you, watching as you lose yourself to pleasure, far too beautiful for him to be real. Mouth over yours he whispers low and rough, “god, yeah, _c’mon_ , let go for me.”

And you’re toast. A noise you never knew you could make shudders from your chest, not quite a groan or growl. Soon Dean seals over your mouth, swallowing it as his own as his fingers still glide slick and almost overwhelmingly exquisite against your walls. He slows as your orgasm fades into blissful bonelessness, every limb dead weight as you huff and puff.

“ _Shit_ , that was hot,” he says, heavy and wrecked.

You manage a blissed-out smile, grabbing his head to pull him in for a teeth-knocking kiss. “Love those noises you make,” he says against your lips, his cock hard and jutting into your hip as he thrusts just a little against you.

You can’t help but let your hand wander, fingers stroking over tented cotton as he sucks in a breath. Watching as his eyes glaze over, you let your fingers draaaag over him, his hips thrusting a little at each pass over the crown. He’d spent so much time teasing and putting his hands all over you, you figured turnabout was fair play. So you let you hand wander beneath the elastic, wiry hairs mingling with the hard heat of him as you slowly stroke. Swift hands shove his boxers down, groaning at the feel of your hands on him, hitching and rumbling in his chest.

You figure enough is enough, pushing him over and straddling him with renewed vigor, hands pressed close on top of his chest. You feel his breathing pick up as he grabs at your waist, steadying you above him. He looks up at you like the cat that ate the canary- freckled cheeks flushed red, eyes bright and wide devouring the sight of you, and lips parted and swollen. There’s really no other choice in the moment than to kiss him, hand running through the spiky hair on top of his head. You pull away with a breathless grin, letting blunt nails rake over his chest as you go, the noise he makes deep in the back of his throat filed away for later.

You lift his hands from your hips, pressing them forward into the carpet above his head. “These stay here. You got it?” His adam’s apple bobs as he sucks in a fast breath through his nose.

“Y- yes.”

A quick squeeze and you’re letting go, eyes finally able to rake over miles of tanned skin freely. You’d gotten glimpses from previous hunts, sure, but you’d never been able to take your time to really admire.

Hands drift over the dark ink near his collarbone, tracing the pattern over hot skin. He’s just covered in freckles as far as the eye can see, and you let fingers draw invisible lines to connect them. “I want to kiss every single freckle on you, Dean.”

“Mmph-” His hips jerk and he shuts his hot, confused eyes. “Jesus- you’re so- _fuck_.”

His skin is smooth and warm as you smooth over the dips and planes of muscle- clenching underneath you as he fights to keep himself still. You decide to tease him as he did you, kissing slowly down his chest, and you see the light in his brain flicker to life. You stop briefly to swirl your tongue around each nipple, sure that the way he has his lip between his teeth will cause some lasting damage. You soldier on though, pressing kisses and short nips to scars and freckles alike. It isn’t until he’s bobbing in your face that you really tease, trailing hot breath over him until you press a kiss to his hip. A wicked thought too good to pass up strikes you, and you part your lips to suck a mark into the sensitive skin over his hipbone.

“God - shit!” he jolts, a pealing laugh shaking your shoulders as he sits up. He gathers you in strong arms, pulling you into his lap as he claims your mouth again, smiling into the kiss. “Oh you’re gonna pay for that,” he teases, rutting against your bare cunt as he starts to nip and lick at the hinge of your jaw. He’s got a handful of your butt, grinding you into him as his other hand plays with a nipple, thumb flicking over it like a joypad. “Fuck,” you gasp, “fuckin’ shit, Dean— gah, I need—”

He groans deep and achingly against your neck, puffing a “ _fuh_ \- yeah. M’jeans. In m’jeans.” You part enough to look frantically for his jeans, recklessly tossed over the couch. You snag a leg of the denim, unwilling to part as Dean’s still easing through the slick heat of your folds. It’s a delicious distraction, your fingers clumsy as you pull at his wallet, shaking as you pull it apart in search for a condom. You find it, fingers pulling at the foil packet until he grinds up juuuust right, the blunt head of him hitting your clit and sending you curling in on him. He shushes into your hair, smoothing a hand over your head as you compose yourself, clutching tightly onto the packet.

You angle your hips back to pull a few long glides from his cock before ripping into the condom, and rolling it over him. His hips canter into your touch as you slick him against you, helping guide you up as you angle above him. His groan echoes in the room, moisture already blooming over your skin as you ease down on him. Hips meet as you take him all the way in, gasping against each other’s mouths as you adjust. His hands grip just this side of too tight, fingers denting in hot flesh as you move just a little, his ragged groan in your hair feeding your desire to pull more amazing noises from him.

You tilt again, this time his hips tilting too, a beautiful dance of push and pull. You stop to just grind against him now and again, beautiful eyelashes fanning out over freckled cheekbones, lips parted and biteable. You do just that, nipping at his lips as he gasps into your mouth, the steady rhythm of ‘ _yeah_ ’ he pushes into you all gorgeous and noisy.

It isn’t until his swearing and grunting has you keyed up so high that he rolls the two of you, squealing in delight as your back presses against the rug again, that he picks up the pace. His arms frame your face, hands at the top of your head as he fucks you into the shag, the burn of it only lighting you up more as you watch the gorgeous play of light over his face. Your blunt nails dig at his back, only spurring him on harder and faster as he worships your throat, all teeth and tongue. His nose presses into you too, the tickle of it sending shudders down your spine as that coil in your belly tightens. It’s when you lift your legs up around his waist, heels thumping into his ass that he’s pummeling right into _that_ spot. Each punch of noise he makes has you tightening around him, fluttering and whining desperately as it peaks to pleasure so sweet you’re begging. A string of yeses fall from your lips as Dean slick-slides in and out, heat pulling at your belly until you’re panting his name. “Dean, ‘m gonna-”

“Fuch yeah, lemme see sweetheart. Wanna see. C’mon, let go for me.”

Every muscle in you tenses as you fall apart underneath the delicious weight of him, sending him cursing as you clench around him. You’re groaning loud and long, almost animalistic as he’s wringing every last ounce of pleasure from you. His thrusts go uneven before he thumps into you, letting loose a withering whimper as he buries his face right into your neck. You hold him close as he’s still thumping hard, your orgasm still lingering and lengthening as he thrusts.

He slows, pressed all the way in as he cups your jaw and angles you for a kiss. You catch your breath, bodies misted sweat-sticky. His hair stands at funny angles, evidence of the way you tugged and pulled, and his grin has you giddy and warm all over. Not that the mind-shattering orgasm didn’t do that too. His mouth is soft and warm as he kisses you languidly, tasting deep and thorough as his tongue quests against yours.

You disentangle yourselves, albeit reluctantly as you clean up- him in the living room and you in the bathroom. You don’t bother buttoning your- his flannel up, opting for a single secured button as you return. You can already feel the rough burn of the rug against the uncovered part of your back, a reminder of the way he’d slammed into you. _Unf_ , that was definitely a memory for the spank bank.

You rejoined in the living room, blankets and pillows spread in front of the fireplace and Dean laid out only in his boxers atop a particularly ugly orange pillow. He smiles wide as he sees you, eyes raking over you appreciatively before opening his arms wide, beckoning you to his side. You don’t have to be asked twice so you shuffle in next to him, his arms solid and safe around you as he clears his throat. “So we’re gonna do this? This you and me thing?”

You look at him, eyes soft and caring in the warm glow. You reach around his neck, pulling him into a sweet and soft kiss, thumb smoothing over his strong jawline. “I’m not sure you’d know what to do with me, Winchester.”

He smiles, relieved and silly. “I think tonight I proved I know _exactly_ what to do with you.” His hand smoothes over the curve of your butt, curling at your knee and drawing your leg up over his.

“Indeed you did,” you concede. “Indeed you did.”

* * *

You wake, overwarm and disoriented. You can’t help the panic that rises in your chest, hunter instincts screaming until a large arm pulls you close to a warm body.

Oh yeah.

You relax, grinning as you feel his lips pressed to the back of your neck, soft snores and short puffs of hot breath too cute to handle. He’s much like an octopus, you muse, arms around you and your legs pressed between his own. You can’t help but savor it, the feel of him and the memories of the night before. Not to mention the moments of quiet sleep you get before grudgingly starting the day.

He jolts behind you, gasping sharply into wakefulness.

“You okay?” He nods, laying spread out on his back. You negotiate your way under the thick blankets, pressing up against him. He hooks a hand around your shoulder, holding you to him as his thumb swipes back and forth over your arm. His eyes look stormy and lost again as he stares at the ceiling.

“Wanna talk about it?” He shakes his head, letting it flop to the side so he can look at you. A slow smile brightens his face as he gazes at you.

“G’moring,” he rumbles. You let a hand rest at his neck, grinning at the way he cranes to look at you.

“Mornin’ sunshine.” _Yeah_ , you think, _you could get used to this._


End file.
